


Mail Call

by Vander38



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22154221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vander38/pseuds/Vander38
Summary: Letters from home can make all the difference in the world
Relationships: Male Shepard/Tali'Zorah nar Rayya
Kudos: 15





	Mail Call

Mail Call

“Shit!”

I turn on my heel as the cry echoes out.

Then I run to the toppling pile of crates, catch it and hold it.

There is a terrified scream from the man below.

The crates are heavy, too heavy and my arms start to shake from the effort of holding them up off the man.

Then a grunt from next to me as a big man with bulging muscles helps.

He tests the weight, then with veins bulging in his fire hydrant neck, he lifts the crates up into place with a loud wordless cry of effort.

We secure them to the pallets with heavy mechanical clicks of the locks.

I turn then help the smaller man up.

Well, when I say man.

He’s just a boy, barely out of Basic, uniform still with the tags on and so shiny he may as well have been polished.

He breathes hard, sweat pouring off of his face, clearly expecting a reprimand.

“All squared away soldier?”

I ask with the harsh tones of command. Showing no sign of my concern for his well being. I can’t afford to.

“Er, y-yes sir.”

He manages to stutter out.

I look him up and down, there is no physical sign of injury. His uniform badges show him to be logistical personnel.

A very junior logistical worker.

“Well make sure to recheck the clamps, everytime.”

I say and he nods repeatedly.

“Y-yes sir.”

He stammers again 

“Carry on.”

I dismiss him and he throws up a quick salute before fleeing.

The big man and I share a look and then look away to avoid laughing at the mans green attitude.

I have to squeeze my fist tightly to stop myself.

The moment passes and then I nod to the big man.

“Thanks James.”

He shrugs.

“No problem Loco.”

I hate the nickname but telling James Vega to not nickname people is an exercise in futility.

He walks away to help Cortez supervise the loading of the rest of the cargo bay.

It’s a big job, and virtually everyone is assisting.

When Normandy left Earth at the Dawn of the Reaper invasion there was no time to rearm and refuel.

Hell half the refit crew is still on board, having been thrown into new jobs as they can. Take Cortez, originally on board to help coordinate the overhaul of the main hold, now he is the main pilot of the shuttle. My new bunting tosser, Traynor, was a lab tech to install a QEC system, now she analyses data as well as working the Coms networks.

And James? Well he was my prison guard now though? To be honest I am not quite sure what he does except never wear long sleeves.

I mean it, always a tshirt.

Damn he looks good though.

Anyway.

Then when we got to the Citadel we barely had enough time to get fuelled up before we had to leave for Menae. We got lucky there that the Stealth Systems work because we had nothing worth a damn to shoot at anything.

Now we have a little time back at the Citadel and are getting resupplied. Everything from fuel to small arms to spare uniforms is being sorted, loaded, stored and issued.

It’s an important job but it takes time, time that we don’t have.

The oldest Catch 22 of Warfare.

It’s not helped by the chaos of the Citadel.

After Earth fell Hackett designated the Citadel Embassy docks as a resupply point for any Alliance ship.

While useful as a central supply depot and a known location it had problems.

The simple fact of the matter is that the Citadel Embassy was unprepared for it.

Every single Alliance ship, troop, contractor and civilian was being supplied by a single depot and the logistical staff were overwhelmed.

Poor bastards.

Still they are getting better, they are pulling more shifts and more personnel and with inventive uses of drones and remote control mechs they are getting things where they are needed.

My thoughts are interrupted by a loud shout from behind.

A harassed looking woman with the collar stars of a Major approaches me at a surprisingly fast speed for such a short woman. Behind her strides an old YMIR mech with a large crate in its hands.

“Commander Shepard?”

She asks, with a quick salute to the Star on my chest.

“Yes Major.”

I reply with a salute of my own to the Oak leafs on her collar.

“Finally, no offence but you are hard to find, Post for Normandy.”

I recognise the insignia on her sleeve now, the winged letter in silver, denoting the postal corps of the logistical branch.

“Sorry about that Major, time is short.”

I say as she pulls a datapad from the pocket of her uniform.

“True that Commander, we’ve been playing catch-up for the last week just clearing the backlog. Now this should be the mail for everyone known to be assigned to Normandy, if any are missing let us know the service number and we will update the records.”

She speaks quickly as I press my thumb into the pad to transfer the mail to the ship and there is a loud thud as the mech drops the crate.

“Good luck Major.”

I say and she smiles before hurrying back onto the dock, followed by the plodding mech.

I move the crate to one side so more of the crew can work around.

The mail can wait for now.

Later on we are underway, heading towards the Petra Nebula.

I am in the armoury on the cargo deck, working and tweaking my firearms. While I trust Vega to maintain the Small Arms to a high standard, I prefer to work on my own equipment.

I have seen too many bodies that had equipment that the armourer had assured them was good.

Some had died trying to clear failures.

As I recheck my gear by feel my eyes track over the mail crate from earlier.

It’s still early in the day and when inflight EDI can take over the controls for almost any situation.

So I secure my equipment, stand and walk to the elevator and press the intercom.

There is a single harsh noise to draw the attention of the crew.

“Mail Call. All Hands to Deck 2. Repeat Mall Call. All Hands to Canteen.”

Then a softer chime as the message ends.

There is a heavy thud as Vega drops from his pull-up bar and he walks close to me.

“Need a hand with the post Loco?”

He asks and I nod, together we pull the box into the lift and with Cortez and a couple of very awkward enlisted marines ride the lift to the canteen.

It takes about five minutes but eventually everyone on board is stood in a three sided square in the canteen.

Well almost everyone.

Two figures sit politely at a table, one blue and feminine, the other metallic grey with blue tattoos and a bird like face. Liara and Garrus are technically not meant to be on board but they are certainly needed for the War.

Besides they are among my oldest friends.

Almost literally true for Liara.

I spot other old friends in the assembled crew. Most are strangers to me, but there is Major Dr Karrin Chakwas, a veteran of the original Normandy and has saved my life more times than I care to mention. Next to her stands Adams, the Chief Engineer, another veteran of the old Normandy, he stayed with the Alliance and so avoided a lot of trouble involving the Collectors, long story. I am glad to see he earned the fourth rocker on his uniform, showing over twenty years of service.

Also in the assembly are Donnelly and Daniels. Veterans of the Collector mission, even in messed up fatigues they look prouder and more competent than they ever did in Cerberus uniform.

Near the centre stands Joker. Another old friend and the pilot of this ship, the only man I trust to fly her.

He could do with a shave though, that beard looks ridiculous.

The rest are strangers to me, I know the names from the tags but apart from a very few I had not spoken to them. They are a strange collection, a mix of experienced spacers and lab or support based personnel.

That said, they all seem to quiver with pride to be here, on board this ship that has become near legendary to the Alliance.

I wonder if they realise the cost that may have on them.

I wonder how many of them will still live in a year.

I silently inspect them for a moment, trying not to smile at the mix of uniforms. Some wear standard Alliance battle dress, others wear mess blues and a few are in the thicker winter jumpsuits.

I know it doesn’t really make a difference in the end but I am glad everyone has the right uniform. Some ships I know have people in the cadet red uniforms and a few have their people in civilian space jumpsuits.

My academy officers would be steaming at the ears to see it.

I conclude my inspection and then pull up a crew list on my datapad, like an old schoolyard register.

By long-standing tradition and as a matter of practicality all mail is delivered publicly.

“Aaronson. A. A.”

It is also delivered alphabetically with no other priorities as to rank or other status.

“Campbell. S.”

As I go through the list I wonder what people order, what little gifts or messages from families, or private comforts to make them feel more safe.

“Shepard. J.A.”

My mind is elsewhere as I read my own name out. Then I realise.

“Glad to see they remember where I am.”

I say to a polite laugh as Vega hands me a large box from the dwindling pile. I lay it to one side and continue.

“Traynor. S.”

A small, narrow parcel, I wonder if it is that toothbrush she mentioned the last time we spoke.

“T’Soni. L.”

Gotta love the mailman, they even know that non Alliance personnel are on board.

Probably some secure data for her other work. I think to myself as Liara is handed a box.

“Vakarian. G.”

Definitely some sort of weapon. Knowing Garrus it would be big, precise and possibly explosive.

Turians don’t smile like humans but I recognise the gleam in his eye.

It’s definitely explosive.

“Vega. J.”

I know that envelope. I have seen it before, received it before. A plain brown paper envelope, like a tax bill. Official from the Brass, and as he signs for it I notice the date is old, for the day we left Earth.

“Zacharia. T.”

The last parcel goes out to a small man with glasses almost bigger than his head and a nose that could charitably be called overlarge.

“If anyone was expecting anything and has reason to believe the Post has misplaced the item, let me know and I shall contact Logistical Support. Dismissed.”

I say and there is the sound of thirty men and women stiffening to attention.

The assembled crew filters away, the duty shift return to their stations, the off duty personnel return to the coffee pot. Good thing that workhorse still chugs along, we would be in serious trouble if it stopped.

I stoop to my crate, about the size of a large briefcase, and surprisingly heavy. It’s slightly concerning as I don’t remember ordering anything.

“Fifty credits says it’s a gun.”

The voice of Vega behind me.

“I’ll take that on, but it’s a love letter.”

The rich tones of Garrus.

“You in Blue?”

Another nickname. What is it with him and nicknames?

“No, thank you though.”

I’ve always thought Liara had a nice voice.

I pretend to ignore the discussion behind me as I open the case, at the top of a pile of foam is a datapad.

An older but looked after pad, with symbols on the back that I recognise.

I can’t help but smile.

“Definitely love letters.”

I had forgotten how deadpan Garrus could be.

“Eh, We dunno yet, wait and see.”

“Fine since you are so curious.”

I say as I turn the pad on, glaring at them in turn. Liara is looking slightly smug for not having taken part, but it is obvious how curious she is.

“To Lieutenant Commander John Alexander Shepard. SR2 Normandy. System Alliance Navy.”

“Hello Kitten.”

I feel my face heat up as I read those last two words out loud.

“Definitely not a gun, unless yours give you pet names.”

Garrus says to Vega.

“The ladies love me, man.”

I love his confidence, man’s like rubber, everything just seems to bounce off.

“Garrus if you are reading this, put it down and go calibrate yourself.”

I read out with a laugh.

“I don’t get it.”

Vega sounds confused and Garrus rubs the back of his neck in a guilty kind of way.

“Shepard, I hope this reaches you well, in fact I hope this reaches you at all, I wasn’t exactly sure how to leave mail for you, but the Human Embassy at the Citadel seemed a good choice. I hired a private courier to drop this off there. I really hope this is you reading this.”

I pause for breath.

“On the chance this is actually you I hope you are well and that they are treating you as you deserve, they should, I mean you stopped the attacks on the Colonies, destroyed the Collector Base and you have valuable intel on Cerberus.”

“Yeah right.”

That’s from Vega, sounding slightly disgusted.

“If not I hope you are not in too much trouble for having to work with them. If you are, find the Fleet, I might be able to pull some strings and get you here, or you know, park the fleet in the Earth Local orbit.”

That’s touching of her.

“I made it back to the Fleet in one piece, spent a long while in a Quarantine, yes I was ill so it was not pleasant but I think it was worth it. Anyway The Rayya has accepted me back aboard and on the surface at least everything seems to be getting back to normal.”

What does she mean by that?

“The Fleet is going through some changes, the Trail and my father’s death has caused some ripples through the Admiralty and the Conclave, I don’t know much about what is happening but it is known that we need to elect a new Admiral soon. I try to keep my head down and focus on my work but it is difficult, I was the focus of a Trail, a very public trail and whispers are spreading like an illness. Despite everything we did aboard The Allari and the proclamation of innocence a lot of people think I should have stayed away.”

Garrus makes a low growl in his throat, “Quarian bastards.”

“It’s not many people though and Captain Kar’Danna has my back, as does the Admiralty board and Major Kal’Reegar, you remember Kal? Tall guy, green eyes, from Haestrom? He is very vocal in my support. As is Veetor, from Freedoms Progress? He is doing much better, though still not good in crowds.”

The knowledge she has friends in her court helps, though I can’t help but worry. It’s stupid, I can’t afford to worry.

“Like I say, I try to avoid the politics and focus on my work, I can’t talk much about it over open coms like this, but it is very fine work and I am learning a lot. I am working with Admiral Daro, unfortunately in close quarters, but that is possibly going too far.”

“I don’t know how to put this right, I dread being off duty, it’s so loud here, and, well. I miss you, I miss Normandy and our friends, I miss you Shepard.”

I miss her too.

“I miss our little talks in the engineering quarters and well, I miss the way you run your fingers through my hair and the way you.”

I cough awkwardly and feel my cheeks heating.

“Gonna skip ahead, um, a while.”

Vega has a very dirty grin on his face.

I thumb past the next, wow, several pages of very private correspondence.

“Have you been able to stay in touch with the others? I know everyone scattered after the mission ended. Not sure who will see who first but if it is you, then please give my love to them all.”

Garrus chuckles softly.

“I will contact you again when I next can, if you have gotten this then you should be able to forward a courier that can find the Fleet.”

The trouble with sending mail across the Galaxy is finding the recipient, particularly when the Fleet is deliberately vague in its heading.

“I am not sure if this is appropriate but I have to ask you a favour. I have included a couple of prototypes that need testing in field conditions. Obviously that is difficult for us aboard the Fleet but you may have a chance to trial them. Only if you can of course, I don’t want you in any fights you don’t have to be in.”

Plenty of fights to be had Tali, I think to myself.

“Thinking of you with all my heart, Tali’Zorah Vas Normandy.”

I finish the letter then pocket the pad.

“I thought Tali was with the Neema?”

Liara says, head slightly tilted like a confused puppy.

“Before the Trial she was forcibly transferred to Normandy. A political game that backfired.”

I say darkly, briefly wondering if the galaxy in general would be better if one were to gather all politicians and deposit them in the nearest star.

Probably would just make the star worse.

“Why did that backfire? It seems to me that making her an outsider would help sway support against her.”

Liara says, frowning deeply.

“It backfired because it meant I was defending one of my own.”

I say it simply, without bombast but also without modesty. I know my worth and I know that my words and Tali’s actions were what stopped her exile.

I crouch low to the rest of the case, there is a locked section with an omni sensor that quickly clicks open as I try the handle.

I let out a low whistle as I open it fully.

“So as you were both wrong can I have the money?”

Liara says and I don’t need to see her to tell she has that smirk on her face.

“No.”

Said by both of them at the same time.

The guns are large, gunmetal grey with large blue electal coils and orbs. The larger has multiple barrels and the smaller has long rails instead of a barrel. Both have grips clearly designed for two fingers and a thumb rather than a human hand, though they are not uncomfortable to hold.

“Mr Vega.”

I say with commanding tones.

“Sir.”

I turn with a grim smile on my face.

“Set up the range.”

He grind widely and nods.

“Yes sir!”


End file.
